


The Ninth Prototype

by yoursatanboyfriend



Series: The Ninth Paradigm [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Drug Addiction, Gang Rape, Gen, M/M, Occasional Billford fluff, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, The Ninth Paradigm AU, will update the tags as more chapters come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:16:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoursatanboyfriend/pseuds/yoursatanboyfriend
Summary: Series of drabbles that expand on the Ninth Paradigm but do not belong in the main work.





	1. My Second Favourite Ford

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Ninth Paradigm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7742494) by [yoursatanboyfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoursatanboyfriend/pseuds/yoursatanboyfriend). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford thinks the boy’s beautiful, even with the bruises and odd bandages here and there hiding his lovely face, the face of a merciful God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expansion on what happened to dear old Fids- Chapter 17.

He’s shaking. It’s been so long since he’s had his last fix.

He’s shaking, and when? When would the guy get here? He can’t wait…he can’t wait…

He had trouble sleeping. Anxiety–he was scared, alright? Terrified. He’d coped with this sort of thing before and knew what to do.

It started with just the usual – shrooms and weed. Shit he did in college for fun, nothing that fucked him up this bad.

Then opiates. Oh why had he tried opiates? Heaven was short-lived - too expensive, he couldn’t afford it anymore. The next best thing, as recommended by his trusty and beloved dealer, was H.

It was amazing, put him to sleep on all the never-fucking-ending dire nights. Had all the shady silhouettes and men with guns fuck off right out his mind – him too, fucked off out his mind. It was better than he’d ever had.

They came to harass him, never killing him.(bruises, black eyes, broken teeth, his leg broke, couldn’t afford treatment. It didn’t heal properly and still hurts occasionally) They wanted to him to suffer for God knows why and he thought of Stanford on some nights. Did they do this to his former partner too? Did they?

He doubted it. Stanford had been eager to say yes. They probably spent all their tender time trying to convince him once Fiddleford was out the picture. He’d told Ford to go into hiding, but he bet the man didn’t.

Probably wanted Fiddleford out the way.

Bile’s rising again. He has no idea what’s coming out his stomach because he hasn’t eaten in almost 24 hours. No money, he needs it, needs to save it up. This habit was so expensive and opiates had drained him thoroughly already. All he could do now was––

When when when would the guy get here?

A knock at the door and Fiddleford falls trying to get there. The fall hurts so bad, it feels like forever before he’s off the floor and opening the gates to heaven to greet God.

“Heya Fids! There’s my favourite Southern Belle! You look like hell, kid.” The boy’s tall, and beautiful, and Fiddleford hates sucking his dick and getting fucked by him, but it was necessary because

he just couldn’t afford it anymore.

But the boy was kind, and would leave him money for food if he did a good job.

How had things gotten this bad?

“Hey, you look pale.” The boy holds up a bag and Fiddleford’s mouth waters. He can smell it, whatever it is, it smells fantastic. Thank God. (his mind whispers ‘thank Bill Cipher’)

God was real, why had he ever proclaimed otherwise?

The boy hands it to him, and he rushes to the couch, tearing it open and nearly swallowing the sandwich whole. The boy pets his head sympathetically, saying ‘there there there’. He’s a dog, this boy’s dog and doesn’t fucking care because what had pride ever done for him?

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the boy remove his fancy coat, loosen his tie. He knows what’s coming next and doesn’t care. The body, like the mind, was nothing more than a tool. Just renting the goods out, using what nature had given him–

That’s what he repeats to himself as he sucks the boy off. The boy is always vocal, as though he wants Fiddleford to know he isn’t a complete disappointment, maybe not entirely human filth – his mouth still works pretty good, after all.

The boy likes to fuck his face the last few sucks. He’s missing teeth, and that probably helps make his mouth feel good. He isn’t really sure…

The boy, Bill Cipher (he finally remembers, it takes him awhile to remember sometimes) climaxes loudly, telling him he’s such a good boy, so good and he’s earned his treats but first he has to get on his hands and knees.

There are times when it seems to last hours, and times when it seems to last seconds. Sometimes the boy fucks him when he’s high, out of his fucking mind and out of this fucking world. He cums during those times, and never imagined it could ever feel so good.

Bill takes his photo sometimes. He thinks he must look horrid, but the boy smiles every time, rubs his head and tells him to take care of himself.

\--

The boy took his research. He doesn’t know what for, but he doesn’t mind. The boy, Bill, asked so nicely…

and bought him dinner.

\--

Last time, he’d seen the boy’s tattoos, recognized him as a Giordano, but he can’t care anymore. He’s tired and just wants his fix. If that man’s son could be so good to him, maybe that family wasn’t so bad…

Maybe they were taking good care of Stanford.

Congratu-fuck you-lations Ford.

\--

The next time the boy sees him, he says “I think you’re my second favourite Ford…”

\--

A new boy visits him now. This one calls himself ‘Paci-fire’.

He doesn’t demand payment and leaves him more than he needs.

It’s so much…

Too much.

\--

He doesn’t care anyway.


	2. Earth to Dipper!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy with tattooed hands won't leave Dipper alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’ll be awhile before The Ninth Paradigm gets to the Dipper Arc so I wrote this shitty drabble bc I felt like writing Billdip. Pretty ooc bc Bill would never share Dipper after knowing he’s related to Ford. noncon warnings. Read 'Say it isn't so, Dipper!' to understand this chapter.

The boy’s name is _Bill Cipher_ , that’s what his Uncle had said. It didn’t take him long to find out who the boy _really_ was and it didn’t take the boy long to establish rules.

The taste is awful, and the boy has a habit of thrusting his hips harder every now and again for the sake of making Dipper choke. His hands in Dipper’s hair rub and caress almost lovingly while Dipper sucks him off.

“You’re like a mini-Ford, aren’t you?” The boy laughs. “Ford has what? 20 years left? Once he bites the dust, I’ll just have you replace him.”

A brackish taste fills Dipper’s mouth and he isn’t sure if it’s coming from the boy or from his own tears leaking into his mouth. 

“And unlike Ford who’s god damn mother Mary and won’t take a dick or even give dick, you take it like quite the champ, don’t you?”

“Wait what’s this about Ford now?” 8ball asked.

“Aaah, he’s a fucker. Doesn’t want me to fuck him, won’t fuck me. Guy’s super squeamish about large items going into orifices.” He grips Dipper’s head and grinds himself before letting go.

“He’s fucking killing me.”

“Hey, look at me.” Dipper obeys and Bill sticks his tongue out. “I’m close. Gonna swallow? Or do you want me to cover your pretty face?”

The boy cums, choking Dipper.

“You know what?” Bill turned his upper body towards the rest. “I think I wanna see this kid get fucked by either Teeth or Xanthar.”

8ball pulled a disgusted face. “Okay, Xanthar I get because the guy’s like a fucking drill, but Teeth? Nobody wants to see that.”

“Nah seriously. Think about it. The kid’s pretty skinny. You ever see a fat guy give it to a skinny one? It’s brutal.” The boy punches an open palm with a fist.

“I’m…not…fat… “Teeth hiccuped.

“You’re pretty fat. Big enough to really plow this kid, yeah?”

“You’ve convinced me. I wanna see it.” 8ball said, checking his phone to see if he had enough memory to film it.

“Nice to see you’ve accepted your status as not-straight.” Paci-fire chimed in.

“Hey fuck off man. This isn’t about getting my jollies off. It’s about watching a kid get decimated.”

Dipper is feeling sick.

“I don’t know if I wanna…” Teeth said reluctantly.

“Come on, Teeth. Look at him. He’s _gorgeous_. When have you ever got to stick your dick in someone this cute?” The boy said, rubbing hands over Dipper for emphasis.

“I bet Ford looked like you when he was younger, hm? What a shame I missed out on that…” The boy kisses him with tenderness Dipper would never have associated with him, and he wonders if this is how the boy kisses his Uncle.

“I don’t think Xanthar wants sloppy seconds so afterwards, you can give him a bath, Teeth. Get’em nice and clean and bring’em back.” The boy’s hands are still slithering over him; Dipper imagines snakes and it’s not far from the truth.

Dipper gets a good look at ‘Teeth’ and…the boy seems younger than Dipper and much bigger.

No… he doesn’t want to. No. no _no no no_.

…

It’s disgusting. Teeth sweats profusely, and makes horrible noises every time he thrusts into Dipper. Bile is rising into his throat but Dipper’s too scared to let it out. Teeth’s panting in his ear and Dipper’s grateful he doesn’t have to look at is face. The surface is hurting his back-

and Dipper can’t relax, he can’t relax, it hurts…everything hurts.

Someone grabs his head, turns it to the side.

“Hey, enjoying yourself?” It’s the boy again; he licks Dipper’s cheek slowly. “Out of curiosity…what do you think of taking two at once, in the same hole?”

“Wah---what…? No, please no…”

“It might take a while but I think we should be able to. Who do you want in you? Me and who else? Pick pick.”

He can only repeat no while the other boy, Teeth, still thrusts into him. This was a dream... it wasn’t happening…

Just another night terror. The doctor said—it was normal. They’re realistic but they aren’t real…

_They aren’t real, Dipper._

“I can’t go with Xanthar. You can’t take a fucking from him and another dick. You’d die, no jokes. Maybe…Alex?” The boy starts talking to another friend of his and Dipper is waiting to wake up.

Wake up. Wake up, Dipper.

Wake up…

He’s crying and the boy is taking photos.

Wake up, Dipper.

_Please wake up…_

“ ** _Mason_**.” The boy kisses his ear. “It’s time to wake up.”

…

He’s wet the bed again.


	3. You're sick from drinking & I'm sick of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill gets drunk. Xanthar takes advantage of it. After all, it’s not every day you got to discipline your boss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty much a nightmare of Bill’s. wanted to write it from Xanthar’s view but that didn’t work. I wrote this ages ago but never used it, so I'm dumping it here. 
> 
> occurred around chapter 10, but a slightly alternate dream. Noncon warnings.

Bill rinses it mouth with alcohol – ha, the irony. He’s sick from it and now he’s still putting more of it in his mouth. Ah, fuck it. Fuck everything.

Xanthar helps him to his bed, carefully because his enthusiasm with the bottle had him enthusiastically throwing up. His suit is dirty here and there – fuck it, _he’s dirty_ _everywhere_.

Xanthar helps him undress, he wobbles occasionally and the man has to hold him straight. Gets him onto the bed–

And then Xanthar’s on top of him.

This nonsense again? He wasn’t in the mood for being teased—

“Fuck off, Evan. My head is killing me.” There’s no response, only the sound of the rest of his clothes coming off.

“What’re doing? Gonna bathe me too? C’mon—“And then Xanthar’s undoing his own pants, removing his jacket and Bill thinks he’s taking this joke too far.

Coarse fingers are at Bill’s entrance and all his muscles stiffen.

“What’re you—“

“I’m going to fuck you.” There’s nothing funny in Xanthar’s voice, nothing to say his joking, nothing because as he says it, he’s already putting his dick at Bill’s entrance. He hasn’t even stretched Bill out- is he insane? This wasn’t funny, this _wasn’t funny_.

“What? You’re supposed to be...”

“Supposed to be what? Speak up.”

“…be straight.”

“I lied.”

…

“What? Fuck off with your jokes.”

“I’ve always wanted to do this to you.” He starts to push in and Bill immediately pushes back at him but Evan’s always been stronger than him.

“You can’t—you stupid fuck. I’m not a woman, you’re supposed—”he’s still pushing in. The ceiling behind Xanthar looks familiar, this feels familiar— it hurts it hurts—in his mind, it’s already hurting but he doesn’t feel anything.

“No really, really…we can, we can if you want to but–”

“You want to? Is that right?”

“Is this how you imagined it?” He lays on top Bill, his chest against him to let body weight do all the restraining, and pushes his dick further inside, “Fucking tell me, Bill. Is this it?”

“No, I don’t know…stop. “ The man starts, and fucks slow but his thrusts are hard. There’s no pain…no pain….there’s nothing…

“You said you wanted it. Now you want me to stop?”

“Not like this…” He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol that’s making him sound so pathetic or if it’s something else.

It’s like a re-run from a T.V show and he knows how this ends already.

Maybe he’s had this fantasy somewhere, in his mind.

“Evan Evan don’t take me dry, don’t take me dry, really it won’t—“

“Dry? You aren’t dry. I’m slipping right in, see?”

Xanthar’s right, he is slipping right in. What happened?

“You were made to take dick, Bill.”

Xanthar fucks him hard. With every thrust, Bill swears the bed fucking moves. There’s still no pain, only _everything else_ , and Bill thinks he’d rather have the pain than everything else.

He’s pushing against Xanthar and then he’s digging his nails into his back because being compliant makes it go quicker. They always cum quicker if you act like you enjoy it.

“Oh Evan, don’t stop…” He does his best lustful impersonation and it sounds like an underpaid porn star’s moan.

Xanthar laughs, he’s hardly heard the man laugh lately and hearing it so close in his ear suddenly terrifies him.

“You look so good being fucked, Bill. You really were made for this. “ He pulls Bill’s hair and Bill yelps at the sudden pain. He felt _that_ pain, he _felt_ that pain…“Made to be fucked.”

“You should quit as boss and become our fucktoy.”

Xanthar’s grunting is so loud…

“Would you like that?”

_No._

“Weren’t you _his_ fucktoy?”

…

“That’s your role, right? The pet of the boss. Should I…take over? You be my pet?”

_…what?_

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

_Maybe…?_

He’s too young to be the heir, he’s too young he’s too young—

“Ride me. You’re not that drunk, are you?”

They change positions, and he hates it. It’s the worst position – to be forced to look at them, like this…while they watch you impale yourself up and down, doing the work like you actually want it. It’s the worst, the worst…

Xanthar’s smiling with eyes darker than dark, darker than usual, darker than black. He holds Bill at the wrists while he thrusts up into the boy. It doesn’t last long, the hands leave, now favouring Bill’s hips and digging unkempt nails into the easily bruised skin.

“Bill, let’s practice. Try calling me ‘Boss’.”

Bill scoffs and Evan hits him.

“Try again.”

“I’m not doing that, like hell. ” And Xanthar’s hands are around his throat, hips still giving it to him like the world’s ending. “Try again.”

“…Boss.”

“Try more enthusiasm.” Xanthar rocks him up and down on his cock. It burns in a way that reminds him of how he’d imagine Hell to burn. It’s not pain, just infernal punishment. There’s no pain. No pain…

“I’m going to kill you.”

“You already have.” Xanthar’s nose bleeds.

“But you’re still here.” Bill touches the blood. It’s cold.

“It’s okay to let go, Bill. Why bother fighting how much you like this?” Xanthar’s hands spread him open and god, he hates it when they do that.

“Just say you do. No one but me’s going to hear. It’ll be our little secret.”

He chokes out words. “I like it...when you force me.”

Xanthar gives him an extra hard thrust, and he says ’thank you thank you…’

Nothing really mattered, anyway.

He starts licking Xanthar’s face. “It’s for the best, right…?” The man doesn’t seem to care.

“I’m going to fuck you in front of everyone. Force you to take it. I’ll call a meeting and let them all watch you take it.”

He’s begging Xanthar to stop, but he isn’t sure why because his hips are doing all the work now.

“Maybe I’ll let them fuck you too? You can sit on my lap, I’ll hold your legs open while all those old men in suits give it to you, one by one. You love that don’t you?”

_No, don’t share me._

It’s always been his fear, to be shared. Always, the threat looming over him if he misbehaved…

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Bill?” Xanthar’s voice sounds unfamiliar now. “Look at me. I asked you a fucking question. What’s wrong with you?”

He meets the man’s eyes, smiling blankly.

“I just like pain.” He laughs.

“Try again.”

…

_Fa male…male male male…_

“Why do you do this to yourself…?”

“I don’t know, Evan. I don’t know please stop. I won’t do it again. “

“You won’t do what?”

“I won’t say no again, I promise.”

“You aren’t making any sense, Bill.”

Xanthar has six fingers now.

“Don’t you think…you’re too young to be doing this, Bill?”

Bill is confused.

“You don’t have to punish yourself like this, Bill.”

_This isn’t…_

“It’s going to be okay.”

_No, who are you…?_

_Chi sei…? Tu chi sei?_

_Who...are you?_

* * *

He wakes up, Ford's voice still pulsing inside his head.

_It's going to be okay, Bill._

He believes Ford.


	4. Dipper, watch your mouth!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill and Dipper share a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A random drabble to test how Bill reacts to Dipper. I honestly don't know until I put them in a scene together. ( ͡° ʖ̯ ͡°)

“You believe in fate?” The boy, Bill Cipher, asks and Dipper doesn’t respond. The warm breath somehow freezes him cold; he can’t move.

“Come on…what are the chances of this? Of us? Meeting again? Tell me - you ever think of me?” The boy, with his forearm flat atop the wall above Dipper, leans in even closer. “When you _touch_ yourself. Do you?”

Stupid question. “No.”

“Now now…lies aren’t nice. And that’s an ugly word. Let’s try again. You ever imagine me, when you know, maybe you’re lying on your bed or just dozing off in class…you ever imagine me fucking you? Tell the truth now.” Again, Dipper squeaks out a no and the boy just rolls his eyes.

“Let me tell you something cool. Awhile back, your uncle told me about these things called _intrusive_ _thoughts_. Now, he said when you undergo something" the boy’s lips park at his ear  “– _traumatic_ , you fantasize about it. You know, like you replay your trauma or some shit.”

He knows…

“So… _I know_ , Dipper.” The boy’s eyes thin, and Dipper knows he’s pushing his luck a little too much. “Now, one more time, Dip Dipper. Do you ever fantasize about me fucking you?”

It’s already over, isn’t it? The boy won’t stop until he hears the answer he wants. And the answer he wants is the right answer.

“Yes.” Nausea punches him in the gut. Shame kicks him when he’s down, and fear pisses on him.

“ _Nice_ …you’re pretty bad, aren’t you?” The boy’s voice lowers to an intimate level. Dipper hates it.

“But you just said–”

“The intrusive thoughts spiel? Yeah yeah, who cares. As far as I’m concerned, you’re fantasizing about me and that’s all that matters.” The boy arches an eyebrow, lips curling at one end. It’s meant to be seductive, but to Dipper, it’s nothing short of terrifying.

“You’re a real freak huh? I like that. _I like weird_. You know…I wouldn’t mind riding the **_big dipper_** again. It’ll be our secret. No telling Ford, etc. What do you say?”

Dipper stares blankly.

“I can’t remember how big you are, lemme see.” The boy begins to paw at his pants instantly – no shame, as if Dipper is his toy he can dress, undress, whenever he wants. Dipper can’t even argue with that claim.

“No...” He does his best to sound tough, but again, he just about squeaks it out.

“That word hurts _so much more_ when it comes from a cute boy. So much more, this awful stabbing pain…” The boy clutches his chest dramatically, feigning heart-ache. He winces in pain, and then one eye opens to survey Dipper, then the other, and then he’s laughing.  
Then he’s back to his original position, close enough to take whatever he wants from Dipper. _Whatever_ he wants.

Dipper’s pretty sure he knows what Bill Cipher wants.

“Hey, nice piercing. What’s that little tree? A _pine tree?_ ” The boy notices his silver earring, in his left ear. “Christmas spirit huh? I gotta agree. You ever hear that cliché saying ‘Santa came early’? That’s me right now, looking at **_you_** , Pine tree.”

“Santa’s not the only one who’ll be _coming_ a little early...” The boy whispers, and then laughs loudly at his own joke. Dipper flinches backwards, tries to become one with the wall behind him. It doesn’t work.

“You know–” The boy starts but stops. His uncle’s home. “Hey, we’ll talk more later, yeah?”  
The boy turns away and rushes to greet his uncle, all smiles.“…Hey Ford! Glad you’re back. Boy, did I miss you! Hey, did you bring me anything…?”

As the boy walks off, Dipper thinks

[Fuck Bill Cipher](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7942144).


	5. Teacher's Darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't treat me rough, treat me really niceys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A random drabble featuring Ford's love of glasses and cat themes like the dirty cat fucker he is.

“Bill, I-” Ford begins, stammering, but Bill finishes for him.

“Like cute boys in glasses?” Bespectacled Bill tilts his head, mouth parted just a tad– a possible invitation. Or a potential trap. Ford sees himself reflected in the uncoated, shiny lenses of Bill’s square black-frames. They match his hair and inked hands– a dark triad. Ironic. Ford is sure Bill would score quite high on every trait of the actual Dark Triad; narcissism, Machiavellianism, and psychopathy.  
All traits Bill would take pride in confirming to allegedly own. (but in Ford’s opinion, his darling isn’t quite there and would no doubt falsify his answers to appear so)

Leaning closer over Ford’s desk while arching his back, Bill deploys his killer smirk. “You fucking pervert.”

Hyperfocus: Ford’s eyes are drawn to every tiny change in body language. It’s _those glasses_ , but he won’t admit it. Not after spending so much time inculcating Bill to embrace modesty– or at the very least, tact and restraint when pursuing sexual exploits. A time and place for everything – and now was not the time for _this_.

“Bill, this is inappropriate I’m your-”

“Teacher?” Bill’s laughter is hoarse, emitting from deep in his chest. It reminded Ford to the growling of an empty stomach; oddly appropriate. Bill was indeed _hungry_. Or merely feigning hunger? It was hard to tell just yet.

“Among other things, yes. This is a professional environment. And if anyone were to see-”

“Blah blah, why don’t you live a little?” Bewitching Bill’s eyelids droop. “So, who knew you had a glasses fetish? You haven’t looked at me like this since that first night we were together.”

Ford sighs, cheeks red; Bill laughs, tongue out.

_Those glasses_ slant upwards at the perfect angle to compliment Bill’s cheek bones; said cheekbones seem even sharper now and Ford feels attacked just by looking at them. Every spectacled glance is a cut, a slash, a slice. Death by a thousand cuts. A lovely way to go, he thinks–

“You look like you could use a glass of water, Doctor Pines.” Bill’s voice is as smooth as his skin beneath his extravagantly dapper clothing; smooth satin snugly fettering Ford to bedposts erected from Bill’s dissolute words. Bill’s eyes flutter and call him a pervert for his metaphors.

Ford has a bottle of spring water on his desk, and Bill takes it upon himself to fill the empty glass beside it to the brim. “Aren’t I just a _darling_?”

He pretends to hand it to Ford, only to spill it _all over_ himself. Over his _white and thin_ slightly unbuttoned shirt. No undershirt today– Bill always wears undershirts, but today, he’s bare beneath the wet and now transparent cotton. Ford’s stomach does a triple backflip.

“Oops. It’s surprisingly cold…” Bill pouts, fingers assessing the damage and yet somehow only targeting one area: fingertips focusing on now very visible nipples.

_Really now._ Ford’s between laughing and scowling.

“Bill, you are _ridiculous_. As if this is going to have any effect on me.” Ford says, an eyebrow raised. As if he would yield to such a vulgar display of eroticism. Bill’s little act had begun interesting enough but the boy always had to go too far. Guileless and shameless to the very end.

“Were your pants always that tight?” Bill muses.

“Yes.”

“Touché.”

Bill takes out his phone, and after a few taps, places it on the desk. Ford waits and regrets it as sleazy jazz music sweetens the air.

“Bill, this– you _cannot_ be serious now.”

“I am. Gotta set the mood.” Bill grins. “This is like a plot of a cliché porno where-”

“Enough.” Ford says, using his effectual stern voice, and Bill steps back on reflex, eyes suddenly wide and then (to Ford’s utter amazement) charges forward and cups Ford’s cheeks with savage tenderness; it hurts but it could hurt _more_ if Bill desired so and he knows this, can feel this. A black grip by black hands.

“Your pants weren’t always _that_ tight.” Baleful Bill says as his hand loosens, slithering down to ensnare Ford’s neck while the latter remains as still as possible, fearful of what sudden movements might provoke. The Black Finger necklace breaks and Bill paws Ford at his cheeks with a soft, seductive:

“ _Meow_.”

Then Bill pulls back, wrapping his arms around himself to signal his cold and Ford suspires in relief at both the demonstration of vulnerability and the abrupt change in demeanour. Back to Baby Bill, Itty Bitty Bill– his Beloved Bill. _Itty Bitty Black Kitty_.

Ford stands and approaches Bill as non-threateningly as possible; Bill stood, frozen in place with downcast eyes that shoot skittish glances up at Ford as he comes. Removing his own short jacket, he places it over Bill. “You can’t walk around like that.”

“Y-yeah…” Bill agrees, pulling the coat further over himself, glad for Ford’s persistent kindness. “I was just fooling around.”

Cupping his cheek, Ford smiles, confessing: “I do like your glasses.” And Bill _glows_ as Ford imagined a treasure-chest to glow upon being opened in a densely-darkened room for the first time in thousands of years.

_Tesoro._

Ford withholds the need to pull Bill into his arms, demurring until they were truly alone and out of the all-seeing public sphere.

Always and forever Bad Boy Bill, but in Ford’s arms, he was only ever William. His _darling kitten_ William.

“Have you perhaps considered cat-eyed ones?” Ford asks as he touches Bill's glasses.

…

Dirty cat fucker.


End file.
